


Helter Skelter

by LornaMae



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alpha Nakamoto Yuta, Alpha Suh Youngho | Johnny, Alternate Universe - Corporate, Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Alternate Universe - Office, Boss/Employee Relationship, Businessmen, CEO Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun, F/M, Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun & Suh Youngho | Johnny Are Best Friends, Mentioned BLACKPINK, Mentioned Im Nayeon, Mentioned Park Jisoo | Jihyo, Mentioned TWICE Ensemble, NCT Dream Ensemble Are Best Friends, Nakamoto Yuta is a Little Shit, Non-Linear Narrative, Office Worker Lee Taeyong, POV First Person, Real Life, Rich Suh Youngho | Johnny, Slice of Life, consumer goods industry, nameless Y/N
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28635210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LornaMae/pseuds/LornaMae
Summary: Euphrasia Tower housed some of the most brilliant minds in the consumer goods industry. As a new employee, you aspired to nail the high standard set by your direct manager: the young, sharp and vicious Nakamoto Yuta. But as you navigated your way through the corporate labyrinth, a new tumultuous journey unfolded as you realized that whatever you do in the company, Jung Jaehyun, the ensnaring and young successful corporate leader, always came first.With the aid of your team mate, Huang Renjun, Na Jaemin and Lee Haechan, you tried to make sense of the corporate world.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Reader, Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun & Everyone, Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Reader, Nakamoto Yuta/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	1. Prologue: Helter Skelter

**Author's Note:**

> For heaven's sake I've kept this draft for over a year. Was trying so hard to make it perfect, but if I keep on doing so I don't think this fic will ever see the daylight. 
> 
> Warning:  
> \- Non-linear narrative  
> \- Might get boring at first, but I promise more rough edges coming up
> 
> Note  
> \- Before starting, if you are not familiar with the Helter Skelter case: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Helter_Skelter_(scenario)
> 
> Please, please, please leave a comment if you like it!
> 
> xx,  
> Lornie

_ Prologue _

[Helter Skelter.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Helter_Skelter_\(scenario\))

You’ve heard its story, right? In 1968, Charles Manson claimed that the songs from The Beatles’ White Album were cryptic messages meant for him and him alone, of specified instructions that prophesied a certain doom. Which we all know by eventuality; such manifestation of delusion unfortunately had become the basis of a heinous tragedy. He had called it Helter Skelter. Taken from one of the songs’ title in the White Album.

It’s **Monday**. While on my commute to work today, I read an overblown pseudo-psychological analysis of Charles Manson and the Tate-LaBianca murder case. It was contained in a two-pages Op-Ed about retro murder cases in this week’s edition of a yuppy magazine, which I had found lying ownerless at one of the metro seats next to me.

The author _–suspiciously named Serna Monsach, which I believed to be an anagram of Charles Manson—_ had been rather sympathetic towards Manson. I cringed reading Serna Monsach’s hopeless attempt to narrate an article that portrayed the infamous murderer as a more ‘likeable’ character, along the lines of:

_“Manson was a frightful victim of an oppressive social-caste system”,_

Or,

_“In an unjust society, where a man’s never given a chance to show his potential, even the most pious of a man can turn unhinged in dire conditions.”_

That was stupid, I thought, romanticizing a cold-blooded homicidal maniac. I tossed the magazine right in the first trash bin I found at my destination station, so no one had to exert an energy trying to tolerate that kind of mass-produced bullshit.

I thought I’d gotten rid of it off my minf, but it seemed to me that the article had not entirely left my system as I kept thinking about it throughout the day. At lunch, I was staring at my fried rice, while trying to ignore the notification _ding-dongs!_ that wouldn’t leave my phone alone (‘ _6 new e-mails from Nakamoto Yuta: ‘[RE:] REVISION NEEDED ASAP: Q3 Sales Report’)_ , I began to realize why the article’s ill-advised thoughts had gotten me captive.

Because right in time, exactly after the lightning bolt of realization struck my nerves, I saw Park Rose from the Luxe Product Division walked across our office’s canteen with bloodshot eyes. Her herd of _cheerleaders_ (her co-workers from the Luxe, we call them that because if this was high school, they would be it) trailed her obediently, with soft shoulder-taps and the cliché _‘You’ll be fine’_ followed suit.

Interesting, so I thought.

I threw my glance to the other side of the canteen and saw Im Nayeon standing in front of the vending machine, with her sardonic smile plastered all over her moon-shaped face and her arms folded indignantly, it was fascinating to see her stare followed the trail of Rose until she disappeared out of the canteen.

If you look from surface basis, you wouldn’t find any sound answer that could explain the look Nayeon just threw at Rose. They had never worked together, they were not from the same clique, they never had any meaningful interaction, nor did they give a damn about each other (but later in this story, I might revise the last assumption).

Nayeon was the embodiment of the quote _‘You can’t choose where your talents lay’_ – because she seemed too lively and too nice to be our office’s Financial Checker. Each job comes with a stereotype, and she was so far removed from hers.

I used to think that she was in the Product Design team because she looked so chic and dynamic. I used to bet that she was a Cosmopolitan-cocktail kind of girl. Until one day I paid visit to the Finance Department for a paperwork clearance, and found myself witnessing her basically murdering a squeaking junior with her expressionless interrogation, deliberately taking place at an open corner of the department for everyone to see. Terrorizing this girl on the verge of tears, about ‘ _numbers that don’t add up_ ’, with, _‘Where did you even learn to count? Blues Clues?’_

Turned out, she wasn’t a Cosmopolitan, she was a single malt. She scared the shit out of me and I oddly admired her.

On the other hand, Rose was a Long Island Iced Tea. She was so much of a teen royalty that seemed to defy the nature of aging. She was vivacious, and I loved her hair, they just fall all over the right place. She liked to throw a smile that seemed too genuine for a courtesy smile. When you walk past through her in the toilet, and she'd smile at you - she’d make you feel as if you had been best friend for years. She wore her heart on her sleeve – proven by the semi-public cry-out I just witnessed.

Two women of different poles, incised in an unfortunate event. What did they do? Then, I did not know that much. But later in this story I learned that their shared mistake was the sin of interpretation. They took an image of a man and created a narrative in their own heads that eventually led them to actions they both had regretted.

It’s like they were listening to Helter Skelter, and maybe it was the guitar riffs _(that soft, luscious dark brown hair)_ , the booms in the bass _(that deep, alluring voice)_ , or the enthralling lyrics _(that ensnaring plump lower lips)_ – that led them to believe in things that did not exist.

Only in this scenario, it wasn’t The Beatles songs from White Album, it was a personification of bewitching spells.

Rose and Nayeon were so different, but later I found out they had one thing in common: Jung Jaehyun.

And he _was_ the Helter Skelter.

***  
  


We all worked in an office building called Euphrasia Tower. Which supposedly incarnate the tranquility of Euphrates River of the mythic ancient civilization. Who knew? The place had grown to live up to its name – the promised tranquility and supposedly source of a harmonious life – which turned out to be a complete myth.

Alike to many societies of a civilization, our office had social classes. It was deduced intrinsically, by archetypes that became identities, and identities that became a sorting hat on its own. I’ll start with the most known stereotype: The _Mass Product Division_ is full of women who were good at everything. They have babies at home well-fed, peaking careers with average age below 35, and successful husbands well-endowed.

We all wanted to be them, we’d sacrifice black goat and headless chicken for a stint at being them. But being Park Jihyo, was the ultimate goal. She was the Head of Division, she’d stroll the office with such radiance and warm presence that’d make you feel like you were welcomed and nurtured, as if you had two mums. On good days, she’d oftentimes pass around boxes of ice cream to the employees, because aside from other essential goods (bleach, toothpaste, diapers, anything you can see on supermarket’s shelves basically) that the Mass Product Division sells at millions quantity every day, they also sell ice-cream. Imagine how amazing was that.

Then there’s the small but significant team of _Luxe Product Division_. They manage and sell things you cannot afford, basically. They were all so Hellenic – polished, lavish, cultured – all the qualities some chicklit authors would be dying to pour into their main characters. And they always smell so florally, as if they take petal-soaked bath in-between coffee breaks. What they were paid to do was to strategize how to sell expensive products through cocktail get-togethers of _The One-Percenter_ , and how to make it interesting enough for their customers to post it on their Instagram amidst posts of their Cartier diamonds and pictures of their daughters’ harp recital. Make no mistake, it takes a lot of observation and an endless debutante’s mentality to nail that job. That wasn’t easy.

Then there’s the _Sales Division._ The Sales Team members were known as a mix of brute and cavemen-like characteristics. If The Luxe was Hellen of Troy, than the Sales Team was Charles Darwin’s missing link. What they do is they make sure the ice cream that Park Jihyo would like to sell gets delivered to the stores on-time, which makes the Sales Team quite well-connected —with the retailers, the distributors, the truck drivers – similar to The Luxe, but without the daydream.

What to say about the Sales Team? The men were impetuous, loudmouthed and painfully soiled. The women—well, no one ever thought of the women of the Sales Team. I am them. We’re a passable ornament. A negligible variable. I’ve tried to look past through my vanity and thought of the gratifying benefit from being invisible: You get to be anywhere and knowing everything without anyone giving a shit about you.

There’s something particularly comforting at the thought of being invisible. You get to be whoever you’d like to be without having to weigh much of a consequence. But you know I couldn’t help but often wondered how it’d be like to have a bit of leverage on someone’s attention, and I kept thinking about the 33rd floor. I’d be lying if I said I never fantasized of walking into the 33rd floor with all eyes on me, like I mattered more than the figures in my sales report.

Well, let me tell you about the 33rd floor.

There were plenty other divisions in this building, but nothing’d struck as important as what goes on the 33rd floor. Every final Wednesday of the month, the DMC – _Divisional Management Committee_ — that comprised of all Head of Divisions, few Directors and a President Director, would meet up there for Status Meeting. They take turn to present about the business status of their respective division; whether a team’s eyeing up for their annual bonus with their targets reached, or some profit loss that would be polished and presented as _“fluctuation”_.

Status Meeting had always made everyone nervous. It was rumored that once Park Jihyo had fallen severely sick after a Status Meeting that required her to lay-off half of her division following an unprecedented deep loss, or when Nakamoto Yuta initiated a veto on the sacking-off of one of the present DMC members, following a disastrous marketing campaign that person had made.

_(Gosh.)_

So every final Wednesday of the month, someone would take turn to observe the 33rd floor and scavenge the leftover of the Status Meeting—whether it was the expressions as the DMC left the room, or whether there was any indication of fist fight (never happened – but we’d hoped so). Bottom line, It’d just make us feel better if someone spotted the DMC members leaving 33rd floor and heading for a good lunch at nearby restaurant (it’d mean everything was fine).

We’d receive the illicit chain-mail afterwards: _[33 rd clear. Heading for Portobello] _– which means everyone can enjoy a relaxed lunch because nothing’s about to happen, or _[33 rd clear. Suh’s on steam] _– which means the Product Design Division under Suh Johnny will have to, uhm, prepare for a beating. But that’s not just it, there would be a following chain-mail with more curated addressee list (comprised of mostly women or any gender that has fully functional eyes), with message: _[#JungUpdates: Dark grey suit with black shirt. Hell freezes over. Status: OK]._

Maybe the point of the chain-mail was not what happened in the 33rd room, or a some-minutes heads-up before somebody got to know that they were getting fired. What mattered was the slightly more secretive message that followed suit afterwards. The #JungUpdates.

Maybe, for some of us, the main point was the shared feeling of giddiness as we all basked in the collective admiration towards Jung Jaehyun. It made one felt less alone. Maybe it was the solidarity of taking aid from facing the truth that we could never have someone like him – the way he carried himself, walking on the back of the line as the other DMC members marched forward, as if he was captivated by his own racing mind. Then Johnny and Yuta who would fetch him as if he was a catch that was getting away, and how they’d part split the rest of the group for a smoke on the rooftop. The three of them – _the wolfpack._

They never spoke quietly, or seeming to be secretive. It was always an open gesture, but none of us ever had enough audacity to slide into their conversations. We all wanted to be them, and nothing was stopping us but our dire fear of our own inadequacies – seemingly accentuated by being up-close with someone like Jung Jaehyun, even though maybe whatever we fear for wasn’t really there.

Like a Helter Skelter.


	2. II: Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lee Haechan asked for your help to submit a business plan to Nakamoto Yuta, which ended up in him berating you, only for an uncanny first encounter with Jung Jaehyun to occur. It was impossible not to fall for his charm, despite advance warning from Na Jaemin and Huang Renjun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an enormous fun writing it. Praying to God I won't neglect this fic like I did to all its predecessors. Inspired by NCT 127's Office Final Round.
> 
> Warning: Nakamoto Yuta is a piece of shit in this.

Well, Euphrasia Tower housed various social compartments under its roofs, and just like a beehive, no matter how far you thought you’ve gone from its pretentious lobby, its identical cubicles, and intricate _social_ cliques – you’ll always bump yourself into the same people, with the same problems that always lead you back to the same name: Jung Jaehyun.

And somehow it always started with harmless conversation.

* * *

**_ Monday. 9.30 AM. _ **

Although I’ve classified it as shit, the article by Serna Monsach wouldn’t seem to leave my mind. I’ve been spending the morning before the lunch (where I had witnessed the interesting exchange of gestures of Park Rose and Im Nayeon) by listening to The Beatles’ White Album.

“Helter Skelter, huh?” Haechan’s statement knocked me off from my drifted thoughts. I was distinctly startled as he suddenly appeared out of nowhere, only to immediately feel annoyance creeping up my back right afterwards. I quickly close the Spotify widget that appeared on my desktop, and let my Excel sheet filled up the entire screen.

“Stop looking at someone else’s computer.” I told him off mindlessly, as I pretended to go back to my sales report, wishing this personification of exclamation remark in the name of Lee Haechan would leave the premise immediately and let me live in peace.

“You just saw _Once Upon a Time in Hollywood,_ didn’t you?”

“Nope.”

“You were listening to _the song_ ,” he continued, “you don’t seem like The Beatles type.”

“Haechan,” I sighed, deliberately making it as audible as possible, “ _first,_ not everyone gets their music reference from some overrated Hollywood blockbuster. Some of us are not as basic, you know? _Second_ , what do you want? I’ve got a report due today and Yuta’s been bugging me off. You know how he is.”

I could see he was starting to get back to his sense, because he sighed heavily and dragged the nearest chair to sit in my cubicle. “Listen,” he _really_ looked dead serious, “I _really_ need you to re-submit this distribution strategy.” Said Haechan, taking over my computer and opening an unread e-mail from him I haven’t read all morning, “Here, read it.”

I scooted closer and skimmed all through the pages, while Haechan waiting in dread anticipation, “I don’t think it’s reasonable to make a new one. This makes sense, it targets our untapped market efficiently, with no additional retail cost, or us having to pay more collaterals. This _will_ work, and we don’t have to struggle with another slim profit next quarter.”

“What? Forget it. Yuta shitstormed on Jaemin’s strategy last week, and it looked a lot like this.” I extended my neck past my cubicle to check on the corner office across the room. Its glass was tinted, but I could see the man in question restlessly pacing back and forth, ears latched on the telephone he was holding, “he seems tensed.”

“Don’t pretend you know him. He could seem chill one second, and then the next thing you know he’d tell you that every single thing you do is shit, and then it makes you feel like shit and—”

“Haechan, I can’t. I’d look stupid presenting the same thing he threw off last week. And I _really_ need to finish this report.”

“No, _listen_. He only rejected Jaemin’s idea because it was Jaemin, okay? I reckon if it’s presented with nicer packaging – this means, you and your proficiency in idea pitching – he’d look at things differently, okay?”

**_ Monday 16.00 _ **

I didn't know how did I end up accepting Haechan's request. Maybe it was because I was a narcissist and he knew how to exactly feed my ego, _'You and your proficiency in idea pitching'_ \- and that my vanity had gotten the better of me, thinking, “Yea maybe if I was the one who’d done it, it would turn out differently than Jaemin."

Turned out I was as much a failure as Jaemin was.

Jaemin was laughing his ass off in the pantry as I just told him about Haechan's request and what had happened to me in Yuta's office room. Yuta didn't even furrow his forehead in that condescending stare of his (like I had expected for the worst), he just looked at me like he had expected me to be a disappointment, and led me to dispose the proposal I had brought myself to the paper-shredder in his office, like a mindless puppet doll. And then saying as he leered at his rolex, "15 minutes wasted _just_ for you."

Jaemin laughed his head off for a full minute, basking in his stupid glory while I muttered in-between sips of my afternoon tea, "I hate that man."

I could swear it was a mutter, it was supposed to be inaudible until a scoff was heard, with the sound of the pantry's fridge behind me opening, "Hate is a strong word, you know."

“But it’s certainly an interesting verb, don’t you think?” I claimed, while passing the hummus on the pantry counter to the arriving man, because I knew he’d want some with that bun in his hand.

He just shrugged off his shoulder, “Why’d you think so?”

“Because you jumped into it, Renjun,” I said, taking back the hummus and stored it back into the fridge when he opted for the jam instead, “one word of it and people like you are dying to hear more about it.”

“She’s got a lovebug,” Jaemin sniggered, wasn’t a pleasant view but six months sharing the misery of the Sales Team together, I got to get used to his antics, “she just can’t wait to get yelled at again by Nakamoto Yuta.”

“Jaemin, whatever,” It usually took extra effort to ignore Jaemin because he was just all there. But my mind was elsewhere, “maybe we don’t hate him –Yuta or the DMC or any of our _boss_ — maybe we’re intrigued by them, you know? So young, so successful.”

I continued with a sigh, “Maybe we want to be _them_.”

It was supposed to come off as a psychological analysis, but from the way Renjun furrowed his brow I assumed it didn’t sound like how I wish it had sounded.

“I came all the way from my division for this?” Renjun scoffed sarcastically, but where Jaemin had lost interest, he’d seemed to gain fascination as he dragged the chair closer to me, smiling at me as if he was saying, _‘I understand.’_

He was always the nicest. Had we not known each other for 12 years, I would have put a heart-shaped photograph of him on my desk.

He was a childhood crush and now he had been working for the _Marketing & Creative Division _for more than three years. His division was located on the same floor as the Sales Division. We shared the same pantry alley and we’d meet often. He’d showed me the rope, so I listened when he came to say, “But seriously. Don’t overthink about them.”

Renjun passed a glance at Jaemin who was trying to contain another grin. I looked at Jaemin, and then back to Renjun and now the two of them were looking at me.

“This is just a job. It’s nothing personal. They don’t think about you.”

“At all,” Jaemin added, slowly rising from his chair, gathering his morning paper before setting off to leave, “and if someday you got to be around them. Don’t flatter yourself.”

The feeling of insignificance grew a knot within my gut as I got back to my seat, and I wondered why. Maybe it was the feeling of dread you felt for already being at a certain point in your life – you thought you would be something else than what you already were. You looked at some people, and they reminded you of the person you could have been, or _should_ have been. And you couldn’t tell whether the dread you were feeling was jealousy or bitterness, but one thing you knew: it was unfathomable.

I tried to sort out some thoughts looking at the sales data on my computer screen. I felt like I needed to come up with something ingenious to redeem my fair share of humiliation I had endured today. At 23, I’d hoped that one great idea would strike me like a bolt of lightning out of nowhere, just one stroke of luck to propel myself into being someone I’ve always wanted to be. To be looked at by someone with the kind of look I’d always hoped to receive. But lately I’ve come to understand that maybe it was a stale fairytale told by some hopeful failures.

I leered at Yuta’s office afar and saw him on the telephone again, I couldn’t see much of his expression but he kept looking at his expensive watch, as if he was agitated by something, or bored to death by whatever phone conversation he was having.

He was something, you know? _All of them_ , they were something when they were my age. Yuta was already a Project Lead when he was 23. I heard the DMC members were a legendary team whom by very young age had led this company to quadruple growth some years ago. And it felt like whatever wonders they did back then were inimitable now because no matter how hard I had been working it always seemed miniscule to what they had done when they were my age.

_What the hell am I doing?_

In all of a sudden, a _ding!_ from my computer went on. It startled me until I almost knocked my mug off of the table. I looked at the notification and all that came out of my mouth was a heavy sigh, as the message read:

**[NAKAMOTO, YUTA] [17.23]** Come to my office asap.

It’s twenty-seven minutes to end-of-day but I was prepared to forego the rest of my evening.

I briefly skimmed at the sales data, hoping to get a grain of idea so I wouldn’t look too stupid for Yuta, before shuffling my heavy legs to his office.

A knock on the glass door. I popped my head in. He threw a glance at me. I walked in, stood a couple of feet away from him. His eyes darted on the computer screen, and then he went on ignoring me for full three minutes and I didn’t dare to say anything. Like a passable ornament.

He broke the silence with a long sigh that felt like a mock towards me, “You owe me a new distribution strategy.”

“I do but—”

He snapped me with a very stern look that muffled my train of thoughts immediately, “—sorry.”

His previous long sigh was better than that belittling stare he was throwing at me now, “I re-checked your so-called strategy. Why didn’t you tell me this would save 56% off of our overall retail budget because _SM Hypermart_ offered us even lower margin?”

“I—” One word and I leered at him to see whether it was okay to speak up, “—I did, but—”

“No, you did not. You only said, and I quote, _‘I think it will be efficient’_.”

You know what irked me? He was right, and Haechan went overboard praising my _idea-pitching-proficiency_ when I had none, “Sir, I’m sorry, I—”

He scoffed, or was it a chuckle? I couldn’t know, but for certain it was not hospitable, “I’m not a clairvoyant. I can’t read the minds of _my_ staffs. And I don’t have time having to go through everything. What’s the point of having you _employed_ if I still have to do _this_? Just re-do it. Check the numbers again. Take out the product sampling plan. It’s lazy.”

I couldn’t dare to look up, Jaemin was right, Yuta was very good at making everyone feels like shit. So all I could do was a mutter, “I—”

“—am sorry.”

I didn’t think he heard the apology I made out of fright as his glass door swung open and out of the blue appeared Suh Johnny and Jung Jaehyun, laughing their heads off out of something they must had been joking about on the way.

I was remotely amazed by the sudden change in Yuta’s expression as the two men came in. A wide grin arose as if I was talking to a completely different person just now. Their presence was overwhelming and without me actively realizing my physical move, I had found myself almost latched to the walls of Yuta’s office, doing what I seemed to be the best at: _being invisible._

“Your friend here is knee-deep,” The way Johnny said it felt like it was an announcement, but the laugh Yuta gave told me that it was as expected. He was obviously referring to Jung Jaehyun who trailed along with that iconic chuckle of his. Johnny massaged Jaehyun’s shoulder, “Nakamoto, you tell him this guy right here.”

“Tell him what? _I-told-you-so?_ ”

And then they burst out laughing again, and I felt suffocated because their presence filled up the room where I felt smaller and smaller. It was humiliating enough being _that_ invisible for them to go on about something that seemed personal without realizing I was there, let alone having to say _‘Can I go?’_ and having them startled by my negligible presence. My hatred was all harbored towards Yuta who were aware of my existence since the beginning but now actively pronouncing his ignorance towards me loud and clear. So I just stayed silence, keeping my stare hung low as to not seeming inquisitive or curious _or_ present.

“I’m done, guys,” Jung Jaehyun finally spoke up, he was sitting on the leather armchair that was set in front of Yuta’s large desk, where Johnny was sitting on the edge of it, looking fairly amused, “I swear I’m done with wo—“

But his words were cut off with Yuta’s sudden head-turn at me, which was followed by the other two men finally gaining awareness of my presence. With Johnny stating, in-between the scoffs of surprise he made, “I didn’t know we have company.”

It took Jaehyun almost saying something deeply personal for Yuta to finally end my misery, “She was just leaving,” said Yuta, finally acknowledging my being there, “right?”

“Right,” I leered at the digital clock on Yuta’s desk, relieved knowing that I didn’t need to do an overtime with Yuta pissing at every inch of my re-doing the distribution strategy, “I was just leaving.”

I wasn’t staring at them, but I could tell Johnny was scorning. Maybe he caught the passive-aggressiveness in the way I made my statement, and maybe for him it sounded distasteful for Yuta was my superior.

“I want to see the revised strategy first thing tomorrow. And the sales report too.” The order from Nakamoto Yuta, given without an inch of respect, filled the room where the other two men suddenly fell silent. Yuta was not even looking at me, he was just squabbling at his papers, it just reminded me of the fair warning Renjun and Jaemin said to me earlier this morning.

My pathetic hierarchical obedience compelled me to reply with, “Sure,” as I headed off for the door. But I was stopped as I passed through Jaehyun, when he said, “Hey,” he turned his body to me, “weren’t you the one who made the distribution strategy for _SM Hypermart_?”

I glanced at Yuta for any sign of knowledge of what topic Jaehyun was heading, because I wasn’t sure how did Jaehyun, someone from entirely different division, came to be suddenly aware of my work, let alone recognizing _me_.

Once Yuta caught a glance at me, he quickly averted his look elsewhere, and I thought it was odd coming from Yuta who was known to have such deadly stare.

I carefully answered, although full of doubts, “Yes?”

“I looked at it. It’s great. The projection showed that you’ll get to save fifty percent-ish of our budget, right? I knew because I had just heard about the new margin deal _SM Hypermart_ offered us with. Really good thinking, we’ll get to expand market by next year.” There was something about the way Jaehyun spoke, a treble in his voice, the way his words seemed dragged yet profound, and the way his lips moved that was so encouraging, but I still couldn’t seem to understand how he came to have an in-depth knowledge of the strategy I’ve made – _well, Haechan made, actually_.

He seemed to catch my confusion though, “I looked through it because Yuta talked about it during lunch—”

“More like _laughing at it_ , precisely.” Johnny added mindlessly, obviously unaware of how condescending it sounded, which was quickly followed by Yuta’s sneer, and his attempt at looking indifferent by taking refuge at the screen of his idle phone. Pretending to type in something.

“—Yuta said one of his staffs proposed a plan for _SM Hypermart_ , and I got curious. I mean yes it sounded unpromising because that mart has been losing money and customer for years,” Jaehyun went on and I couldn’t find a place to hide the tinge of red on my cheeks, “but I knew they’ve just gained a new investor, and they might massively expand their number of stores soon, and having all our products on their shelves are gonna be pertinent for them. The lower margin they offered is only natural. I expected it, you seized the opportunity. Great job.”

I was confused for a moment, and as I braced a look at Yuta, who was now staring somewhere else, preserving every last bit of his dignity he had, it became clear where did his sudden change of attitude towards _my_ strategy come. It wasn’t because the strategy was a complete shit, like Yuta had said it was. It was more because of Yuta’s ignorance of the latest market update, and shall I say, his disdain towards _me_ , or Jaemin, or Haechan – any of his _inferiors_. He was deliberately trying to make our job a living hell. As I realized this, every distant admiration I’ve ever remotely felt towards Yuta started to fumigate, and replaced by an even more keen feeling for Jung Jaehyun.

I felt like a child, but it was impossible not to if you were in my position, trying hard to mutter, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Jaehyun. Just Jaehyun.”

“Sure,” I gulped my nerve down my stomach before speaking the following word, “Jaehyun.”

As I got home that night and as the euphoria of my small achievement started to subside, I began to think about Jaehyun and I just realized I knew nothing about him despite the monthly #JungUpdates I had been receiving. Maybe that was the reason why I subscribed to it on the first place, because I knew nothing about him. But what startled me was the realization that I did not even know what was his official function in our company.

So, I dialed Haechan and as expected he answered amidst his virtual yelling to his online game playmates, “What do you want? . _.oi! Oi! Get out of the area now!_ ”

“So rude of you considering the beating I took for you today.”

He chuckled while could be heard munching crackers over the line, “Sorry. Thought it’d work. Hehe.”

“It did though.”

“Pfft,” I could portray Haechan sitting on his gaming chair with legs spread all over his desk, being a complete slob, “Jaemin told me already. Said you were crying coming out of his office.”

“I did not!”

“You did. Renjun also confirmed.”

“I did not—wait, did Renjun say I did?” An odd sense of disappointment crept on my back, would Renjun say about things that did not happen? Would Renjun said dishonest things? Why did I suddenly get touchy with the mention of Renjun?

“Hehe, no — _YOU SICK FUCK TOLD YOU NOT TO GO THERE!—_ the mention of Renjun was just for dramatic purpose. You always get worked up if I mention Renjun.”

Then an odd sense of relief ran down my spine. Followed by a sheer of embarrassment as Haechan pointed out the thing I had tried to deny.

“No need to bring Renjun into this conversation,” I sighed, scrolling through my archives of #JungUpdates on my e-mail. I smiled and felt distracted for awhile, “Oh. Well. Anyway, just wanted to let you know, Yuta changed his mind last-minute. I think we can execute the plan by the start of the quarter —uhm, which is next month— and I need to be on the team.”

“ _Oh shit, I’m dead!_ —wait, what? He approved?”

“Yep and it was—”

“—good then. He changes his mind all the time. Don’t get flattered.”

_Don’t get flattered_ , I heard that twice today, “Oh. Okay. It was a great idea anyway. Thanks for giving me a go at it.”

“Yeah, I no longer care who gets the credit, anyway. I’m just doing what would be good for the sales. So Nakamoto Yuta wouldn’t get the satisfaction of firing anyone by the end of this year.”

There was a deep silence between us after Haechan stated that.

“Are we done? I need to re-start the game.”

“Oh? Yes, sure. Thanks, Haechan.”

“Hey, listen,” Haechan let out a deep sigh that strangely changed the tone in his voice in all of a sudden, “you’re new at this company. Bask in this glory. Treat yourself a drink, go get a shiatsu or whatever. Because it won’t last.”

There was something about the way Haechan stated it that had me taken aback. He paused for a couple of seconds before getting back to his careless, cheerful tone, “’Mkay then. See you tomorrow.”

Not until the connection ended, did I realize that I did not get to ask Haechan the question I was meaning to ask about Jaehyun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please, leave a kudos or comments if you like it! Thanks for reading.
> 
> xx,  
> Lornie


	3. III: Tuesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tuesday came with a bang. After an odd encounter in the morning involving Jung Jaehyun, Nakamoto Yuta was set to make the working experience a living hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys,
> 
> I just realized I had a lot of grammar errors in my previous chapters. This is the part where I say "English is not my first language" - so please, if you encounter any grammar error or misuse of any word, please tell me :'(
> 
> If you like it, please leave your kudo hehe! If you have any idea how to make this better, also just let me know. Thanks thanks thanks <3

**Chapter 3**

**III: Tuesday**

_ Tuesday, 08.00 _

I’ve always had an irrational fear towards Tuesday. Something about it sitting uncomfortably between the start and the middle of the week just screams exhaustion and annoyance. You’d feel enormously tired by the day and yet it’s only the start of the week. The fact that all through my life, bad-luck had seemed to favorite Tuesday as the most proper time to arrive – only increased my disdain towards the day.

I suppose the fact that I was sleep-deprived the night before – from mix of finishing the revision Yuta had asked me, and repeating in my mind the moment Jaehyun told me I did a good job for embarrassingly enormous amounts of time – put the day off to a bad start.

The exhaustion must have caught up with the way I looked because Renjun just handed over the coffee in his hand to me, “Here, take it.” We were both queuing for the public elevator that was fully packed at the start of the day. The buzzing sounds of ‘ _Peep! Peep!’_ every time someone swipes their access card to get pass through the access gate, before the elevator entry is such a typical early morning commotion. 

“Huh?” I looked over to the other cup of coffee that Renjun was holding on his other hand, “What’s that? Why bought two?”

“But 1 get 1 – such a mindless marketing method for a coffee shop. Why the need? What if I just need one cup, and what if I had no friend to share?” He ranted, stirring the cup of coffee he’s got, “oh, it’s a Caramel Macchiato.”

“And what’s this?”

“Americano – no wonder they’re giving it away for free.”

“Let’s trade.” I mindlessly grabbed his coffee to his gruntling dismay, “Thanks, Renjun. You’re the best.”

The cumbersome _‘Peep! Peep!’_ suddenly turned into a roar of a mind-numbing alarm, driving everyone around to turn their heads to the source of commotion. Everyone was quickly back to minding their own business upon learning that it was just Na Jaemin forgetting to renew his access card. Embarrassed, he turned his way to the receptionist, leaving the chuckling Lee Haechan heading our way.

“Good morning, Renjunnie,” he squeaked with an enormously irritating voice, passing his eyes towards me lazily, “and good morning, Capitalist Blues. You look terrible. Rough night?”

I rolled my eyes, while Haechan continued his rambling, this time getting in touch with his existentialist sentiment, “Is this what life is? Look at us. Well-educated. Proper workforce. Herd in like cattle farm.” He was referring to the queue to the elevators, which by that time, obviously were insufficient to load all these employees during peak hour.

The queue was getting longer and packed. There was only a limited space between the access gate to the elevator rows, and everyone was trying to squeeze themselves in, so they can clock their attendance on time.

“While look at them,” Haechan shifted his gaze to the other side of Euphrates Tower main lobby, to a group of five, dashing through the crowd and heading to the fancy marble-lined exclusive elevator with a sign on it: _VIP Only._ Suh Johnny, Nakamoto Yuta, and Jung Jaehyun – with two other execs I wasn’t quite familiar with, Kim Doyoung and Dong Sicheng. Our eyes followed them – secretly projecting the image of ourselves onto them. Just few years apart, but far ahead in all sorts of excellencies, “must be feeling damn proud walking past us like that and into their own posh little bubble.”

“But so long we get paid, eh?” A cynical snigger was the end of Haechan’s rant, as Jaemin jogged towards us with his renewed access card, right in time the elevator offered enough space for the four of us to squeeze in.

We parted our ways as we reached our floor, heading to our own cubicles. I had decided to make a trip to the copy machine first to print out some copies of the revised strategy for Yuta today, and while I was walking there, I accidentally bumped myself into Park Rose. It was quite a collision that I had to throw myself to the nearby wall for support. We both were startled, but I was more caught up with her bloodshot eyes.

For some awful seconds we were awkwardly startled, as she proceeded with, “I’m so –“ her voice broke, “—fucking sorry.” And she dashed past me to the nearby elevator.

I reckoned her division was three stories below and it was odd to see her here, until I figured the man standing at the end of the hallway, in front of his office’s room with its door open ajar, picking up where Park Rose had left. Jung Jaehyun, visibly distraught.

I tried to pretend like I minded my own business and went on with my pace, without acknowledging what just happened as I scurried past him to the copy machine that wasn’t so far ahead.

Right as I got to the place I was heading to, my dear heart, wasn’t I prepared for another surprise in this fine Tuesday? Im Nayeon was leaning to the wall, pretending to fill up her water bottle from a dispenser next to the machine, but I never saw someone so happy doing such mundane thing.

She glanced at me, and smiled – to which I passingly returned the nicety, and carried on making my copies, she looked too keen to display her joy, “Great morning, don’t you think?” she said, trying god awful hard to suppress a giggle from escaping her lips.

I told you before that I was scared of her in some kind of weird ways, so I just plastered an awkward smile all over my face, “Sure, I guess?”

“Yeah, definitely not something to cry for, right?” She winked at me before leaving the premise. She WINKED at me, and it was only progressively getting me frightful because I came to understand what was that all about. This is the perfect _spectacle spot –_ considering it’s only a glance away to none other than Jung Jaehyun’s office. _She was enjoying the show._ Whatever was that.

I quickly made my copies and scurried my way back to the safe haven of my cubicle.

The only thought that I carried that morning was only: _people are weird._ The crying Rose Park, the remorseful looking Jung Jaehyun, the gloried Im Nayeon. I wondered was this a sequel to the exchange of gestures between the two women I saw yesterday?

I tried to bug off, and made my way to Yuta’s office to submit the revision. I threw a glance at his secretary’s desk in front of his office, and she lazily muttered, “He’s in. Been waiting for you.”

I was about to knock when he opened the door, “You’re late.” I thought the gesture was odd, why would he open the door for me? Was he in dire anticipation of me?

“Sorry, sir. The elevator queue took a while.” A problem he wouldn’t understand since he’s got one dedicated for his fellows only.

“Hmm,” he extended his arms for the revision copy, which I quickly handed over. Like a mutt, I maintained my position at the corner of his room, as he shuffled all over the room, dissecting my revision with his darting eyes, “if only I don’t have to hear your _sorry_ every time.

I supposed I couldn’t quite hear what he was saying, or maybe I was too afraid to assume what he was saying although I heard it clearly, so the idiot of me asked, “Sorry, sir?”

“Good,” he scoffed before spewing another sarcastic remark of his, “right a second after.” That was when I figured out better to never speak a word with him unless utterly necessary.

He sighed, palming the temple with his fingers. I came to realize that the dark circles underneath his eyes had gotten deeper today. I wonder with all these employees reporting to him, doing most of his work – is it really hard to be someone like him? So successful, and wealthy at such a young age. I bet he’s never had to skip a meal just to spare some savings for rainy days.

Maybe underneath all these, I am an awfully competitive person, I wanted to be him when he was my age. What are the works that I must do? How many sleepless nights do I have to bear to be in his position? _Give me the challenges, give me all the opportunities, I will nail them down._ That thought hung stubbornly inside my mind every time I looked at Yuta, Jaehyun, and other DMC members – yet the realization that I’d turn timid and frightful every time I have to bring myself around them, belittled every ounce of ambition I had. Why couldn’t I be bold and confident in front of them? It’s always _sorry_ or _yes sir_. I hung my head low in a disparaging thought over my being pathetic.

He stopped pacing and stood in front of me. I looked up to him and suddenly an odd knot formed within my guts – realizing the height gap between us. I felt small and inexplicably vulnerable. He handed over the paper, and muttered while walking back to his seat, “They’re good to go. Send me the soft file, loop Haechan and Jaemin too in the e-mail. We also need some guys from the _Marketing & Creative Division _with us. I was thinking,” he shot a glance at the window, it was starting to shower outside. Monsoon season had started, “maybe we could loop in Kim Doyoung, the manager?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And maybe Huang Renjun. Doyoung said this kid’s good. He could help lend a hand.” My face lit up to hear Renjun to be mentioned in such a flattering way by Nakamoto Yuta.

“Oh, and also,” this time he let out a really deep sigh, “loop Jaehyun in as well.”

I smiled politely, and rid myself out of his room. At that point, I had legitimate reason to question Jaehyun’s position. He was never announced for, like how other DMC members were introduced with their official titles. During my orientation week, the liaison from _Human Resources Department_ only addressed him as _‘Mr. Jung Jaehyun, from the DMC’_. What’s he got to do with everything?

_ Tuesday, 20.37 _

My cubicle was packed with the three junior execs I had looped in the e-mail earlier that day. I was cornered with my laptop tilted over to accommodate these men’s view. Jaemin was sitting on the edge of my desk, while Renjun and Haechan were standing – hunching over to the strategy plan I had presented on my computer.

The strategy was actually the brainchild of Jaemin and Haechan – all I did was polishing some rough edges for it to be more _presentable_. We were explaining to Renjun the big idea, whilst he chipped in some marketing insights wherever he could. It had been a fruitful discussion, and I felt very energized.

“I guess we’re clear with this plan.” Jaemin let out a satisfying declaration, partly yawning – he looked tired, “I really didn’t think this plan would see the daylight. Thanks, though.”

“I’m really amazed with you, newbie.” Haechan tried to look cool, but ended up chuckling, “you took the beating well.”

I never thought of myself as one needing verbal validation from my co-workers, but I couldn’t keep a straight face: I was happy, I was grinning.

“I’ll be happy to lay this out with Doyoung first thing tomorrow,” said Renjun, scrolling through the pages, making sure he got all the details correctly, “afterwards maybe we could consolidate this together, with _them_.” Renjun threw a glance at Yuta’s office, he was referring to the managers – Yuta, Jaehyun and Doyoung. Only then I realized that Yuta’s office were still lit, he hadn’t gone home yet.

“Yeah, yeah, set up our first WIP meeting for this project,” said Haechan lazily, beginning to tidy up his stuffs scattered all over my desk, “and that’s _work-in-progress_ for you, newbie.”

I jeered, “I know exactly what WIP means, but thanks, though, for the concern.” I cleared up my stuffs, while looking at my co-workers fondly, “Great work today, guys. I’ll check with Yuta when’s he available for the WIP meeting.”

“I’ll check with Doyoung too,” said Renjun, “but someone’s gotta check with Jaehyun too.”

Silence suddenly loomed among us in the room that’s already quite past the working hour. “I’ll just check with his secretary,” Jaemin finally volunteered, “to be honest? I don’t know why he’s in.”

Another silence, all the others left with no answer, desperately hoping someone would speak up. I dragged my glance through all of them and no one seemed to keen on answering Jaemin’s question, “Well,” I spoke up, breaking the uncomfortable silence, “let’s go home. Rest well guys.”

 _Bye_ and _see-you-tomorrow_ swiped through us as Haechan and Jaemin left. Renjun remained, with his eyes onto me as I turned off my computer, “What are you looking at?”

“Huh?” he got startled for a while, embarrassed for getting caught staring, “nothing it’s just… I’m proud of you.”

“Don’t,” I let out a quick dissent, “compliment me only where it’s due. This is all their work afterall,” Said I, throwing my glance on Haechan and Jaemin that were exiting the office to the elevator, “Compliment me. But not for this.”

Renjun chuckled, nodding agreeably, “Noted, ma’am. Anyway, do you need a lift?”

I sighed and felt an annoyance creeping on my back as I glanced at Yuta’s office. The sense of obligation burdened me, “I’d love to, but mind if I check on him first?”

“Yeah, no problem. I’ll wait at the lobby, okay?” Renjun patted the top of my head, the gesture drove me to beam up.

As I walked over to Yuta’s office, I noticed a thin wisp of white smoke, lit underneath the ceiling lamp, seen through the clear glass on the top half of the glass wall. I wondered what he was doing this late at the office. Half-curious, half-scared, I straightened myself out before knocking.

A muffled answer was heard from within, I opened the glass door slowly and popped my head in, “Sir? Do you mind if I leave?”

Nakamoto Yuta was staring at the window, he was smoking. I immediately scanned the ceiling to find any smoke detector – where I found none. I was part relief, but quickly came to worry about all the hazard the building would be prone to without any smoke detector. He had turned on the air purifier to maximum setting, thinking it would cleanse out the stench of his cigarette.

He finally looked over to me, and I immediately noticed that his face had gone very pale, his lips chapped. He looked very much deprived, but he still maintained his stern gesture, “You’re up tomorrow.”

The confusion on my face was evident, he sighed understandingly, “You will have to present our plan at the DMC meeting tomorrow.”

It took a while for me to process what Yuta had just said. Until I came to a realization that he was not joking. The news struck me hard, I could feel my heart dropped. I immediately thought of all the things I needed to prepare in such a short-notice, not to mention the anxiety to present to the DMC with no proper preparation. Employees usually rehearsed their presentation weeks on end before presenting to the DMC.

I braced myself to ask for an explanation, “Sir, may I know why? I obviously haven’t started making the presentation deck. We haven’t even had any WIP with the rest of the team, or – or, can Jaemin or Haechan do it instead? I—I.. I reckon they may know the drill better than I do.”

He flicked his cigarette and inhaled the toxin deeply, before letting up a huff where he tried to conceal his sigh with, “It’s not negotiable,” he leered at his watch, “you have less than twelve hours. E-mail me the deck tomorrow morning before 7 AM. We’ll rehearse it briefly here at 8 AM.”

For awhile I just stood there, trying to process the mix of disappointment, annoyance and anger I had – but most evident was the intense feeling of exhaustion. _It’s only Tuesday_ , I thought to myself. Unfortunately, I was in no position to rebut, I swallowed my feelings whole.

“Okay, sir.”

Yuta dragged his eyes towards me. Scanning me from toe until stopping his glance on my eyes. The intense stare brought a halt to my breathe. For a couple of seconds, I was waiting for him to speak, as he seemed to want to, only for him to softly shook his head and dismissed me, “You can go home now.”

I stood there for a while, still trying to process the sudden news. He cocked his head, getting antsy to rid of me soon, “What else?”

“Nothing, it’s just—” _I can’t do it. I will fail. Please give the work to someone else._ “—I just realized we don’t have any smoke detector.”

A chuckle almost slipped through his mouth, but he quickly turned it into a mocking jeer, “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Nothing. Goodbye, sir.”

“Yeah.”

On my way home, inside Renjun’s car, I let out the most pathetic sob. It was a plea of desperation, annoyance and exhaustion. The idea of Yuta Nakamoto rages inside me, the way he orders people around with no ounce of respect. Something about him was so revolting, yet his presence often gave me a strange feeling. Of uncanny inconvenience, yet alluring one – _No, please focus on hating him_ – the way he blatantly uttered what he wanted, every time and at any time. There was a sense of authority in him, a firm confidence that was unfortunately, admirable – _Stop this instance._

I tried to cheer myself up, thinking that this unfortunate event might be a jump-start for my career, if I nailed the DMC presentation. I tried to ease myself up, _‘You said you’d be glad to sacrifice your goodnight sleeps to be where Yuta was when he was your age’ –_ which was true, and I felt like the biggest hypocrite ever. My mind was in chaos.

Fortunately, the calm demeanor of Huang Renjun that I have come to be comfortable with for the past 12 years gave me a sense of relief. I was being a brat, that I knew of, but I was also exhausted, I was not prepared. The thought of failing in front of the DMC held me captive.

Renjun drove slowly, dangerously below the speed limit of the highway we were on. Cars were driving past by us, honking impatiently. His eyes were focused on the lane, while throwing his worried glance at me once in a while.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” His right hand was keeping ahold of the steering wheel, the other hand caressed my head softly. I could sense a sheer panic and worry laced in Renjun’s voice – but there’s also helplessness in which he knew he couldn’t do much about the situation, other than give me the warm consolation, “he’s an asshole. We know.”

“Renjun,” I said, almost muffled by my own tears, “sorry for being a brat. I’m just exhausted, and it’s only Tuesday.”

He chuckled instantly, “You’ve always said you hate Tuesday.”

“I still do,” my eyes were bloodshot red, and I noticed that Renjun had drove into the rest area lane, “especially today. What was that all about? Does he do that all the time? Order things, no explanation, like we were their mindless subordinates. _Yes, master. ‘I will do it, Master!’._ If only he’d given me explanation, I could— I could at least manage this— this—”

“Anger?” Renjun said, finally steering his way to the slow lane, “Whatever the explanation, you’ve got to do it anyway, right?”

“Right,” said I, finally realizing that crying alone absorbed so much of my energy, and I needed whatever left of it for I wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. While I dabbed the tissue on my leftover tears, I realized that Renjun had drove us off the highway before our supposed exit, “Anyway, where are we going?”

“Hm? Ah yeah. I have a plan,” Renjun stopped at nearby convenience store in the highway rest area. The rest area was empty, aside from some parked trucks and eight-wheelers on the other side of the parking lot. The neon lights on top of the convenience store were flickering – hanging helplessly to the worn-out thread of its cables. The rest area was eerily quiet, as Renjun said, “Let’s pull an all-nighter together. I’m gonna grab coffee for us, and I’ll come over to your place. I’ve done DMC presentation before – thought I might be helpful. How’s that?”

I could feel my face beamed in lights of hope, which only resulted in another pathetic, relief sob as I thanked Renjun over and over again.

_ Wednesday, 02.45 _

Tuesday had passed and yet my misery sustained. I could feel my stomach growled in dismay, the mix of coffee and anxiety made my stomach bloated. I felt nauseous and stressed. My whole joints were stiff, and my eyes were heavy.

Renjun, donning my old, oversized gym t-shirt, was oddly energized. His fingers were effortlessly dancing on the keyboard, putting his touch on the few last slides of my presentation deck. Once in a while he looked over to me, and explained the narrative I should be using during the presentation. He said, “It’s not merely about presenting facts – they’re just the tools to your _story_. That’s how you present your plan. You create a story out of it.”

We rehearsed every slide: what would be the key takeaway, what would be the data needing emphasis, how to present the problem and provide the solution. It amazed me how Renjun patiently guided me through it with every bit of his remaining energy. The clock almost struck 3 o’clock in the morning, when we finally closed off the computer, yawning, stretching, as I slid my arms to find warmth into Renjun’s friendly embrace, “What would I do without you?”

The funny thing about a hug is how it welcomes you to peek at someone’s heartbeat, and Renjun’s was beating fast, “I—” he stuttered, “—am glad to help.” He pulled himself away from me and pat my cheek lightly, “Lucky me, Doyoung’s a chill manager. Since we don’t need a WIP after all, I texted him, asking if I can take my leave tomorrow—today, I mean, and he’s chill.”

As much as I was happy to hear that Renjun could take a well rest, I was also jealous. I wish I could have the luxury.

We finally said goodnight after cups of milk that Renjun heated up in the microwave. I had laid out a clean sheet and a spare blanket over the sofa in my studio apartment for Renjun to sleep in. I leaned my back on the headboard slat of my bed, staring at Renjun who was fast asleep now. He looked so serene, and something about it just soothed whatever miseries I had been having today.

I was about to surrender myself to the deepest slumber, when a notification popped up on my phone. Two messages from an unsaved number. I was fast to rule out that it must had been spam messages, or government’s PSA, until the third message popped up, this time with its message laid out bare on my phone’s homepage:

 **[+82-0203-2611-1995, 02.59]** and sorry.

I immediately opened up the whole messages, as it read:

**[+82-0203-2611-1995, 02.57]** Hey, it’s Yuta. How far are you with the deck?

**[+82-0203-2611-1995, 02.57]** I’ll be up all night in case you need anything. Just text me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was thinking maybe slipping some rated scenes in future chapters, wdyt?


	4. IV: Wednesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yooo major writer's block. hope you like it tho

_ Wednesday, 06.45 _

The cumbersome whirring of the vacuum cleaner was the only sound that accompanied my step down the hallway to Yuta’s office. The sound was almost as unbearable as the beating of my heart. I was nervous, and the eerie emptiness of our division section only grew certain kind of uneasiness in me. There was nobody other than the janitor, Yuta –seeing from how well-lit his office was— and his secretary.

“Good morning.” I mumbled apologetically to the matron – who was uncharacteristically bare-faced, donning an obvious annoyance on her face. She rolled her eyes and cocked her head to Yuta’s office, signaling _‘He’s there’,_ and mumbling as I passed her by, “It’s not even 7. Don’t y’all have life?” I just grinned awkwardly, physically apologizing for her being in office early, Yuta must’ve asked her to come early.

I straightened myself out before bracing myself to pop my head in. After all, other than daunting, Yuta’s split-moment of kindness last night was also peculiar of him. I did not know what to make of it, my last draft to reply him was _[I’m good sir! Thank you!]_ , and that was already the best one. I realized I’d sound idiotic in my would-be reply so I braced the hard way and decided to not reply him at all. The sheer regret of taking that decision was only apparent the morning I woke up. Leaving Nakamoto Yuta on read was, by any account, the wrong choice. I tried to formulate the proper apology; _Sorry I was fast asleep already? Sorry my phone was dead? Sorry I was kept up with the deck, didn’t check my phone?_ And the million dollars question ensued: Even if my apology made sense, would Yuta even care about it?

“What’s taking you so—”

“Ma’am please!” I hushed the secretary by all means. I reckoned I was standing in front of Yuta’s office for quite some times now, but I need a mental prep. The secretary rolled her eyes annoyed, continued dabbing cakey powder on her face, “Just a while, I’ll be in. I need some air first.”

She sighed, “Do I need to buzz you in?”

“No, I’ll just knock.”

I glanced at the tumbler filled with hot tea on my hands, and I’d just realized that Renjun had put a small sticky note on it:

> **😊**
> 
> **not sure what to write but you’ll do great today!!**
> 
> **rj**

I pocketed the sticky note for good luck, before knocking, “Sir? It’s me.” Yuta buzzed the door unlocked.

As I’d reckoned last night, the air purifier didn’t do much. His office still reeked of cigarette; paper works were scattered all over his desk. He didn’t look so good either. His hair was tussled back and disheveled, his black shirt was mindlessly buttoned, as he missed one button. Empty mug was filled with crumpled paper, and cigarette butts were mounting on his ashtray.

He was unfazed with my entrance, as usual, still dabbling with the papers in his hand.

“Morning, sir?”

Something about the way he darted his eyes on the bunch of papers in his hand told me that this time he was not deliberately ignoring me. He reached out for a pen on his desk, violently scratched parts of the paper, looking visibly annoyed as he brought the papers to the shredder on the corner of his room. His irritability indicated that he hadn’t slept at all last night, I wondered, had he been on standby all night in case I needed help? The thought of it being a possibility drove my gut into a turmoil of regret.

Amidst the noise of paper-shredding, he finally looked at me, I could feel my heartbeat raced, “Take a coffee.” He said, pointing at the corner table that I hadn’t taken notice of where there were two cups of coffee, laid out with brown sugar in sachet on its lid. I stood dumbfounded for a moment, and thought to myself, how much of a jerk you had to be for people to think that any kind gesture from you is peculiar, or even worse, scary? Because that was exactly how I was feeling – scared of Yuta’s unforeseen generosity.

I raised my tumbler apologetically, “Uhm, I’ve got my hot tea already, sir, but—” I wasn’t done talking when Yuta immediately took the coffee he got for me, and was about to toss the full cup to the rubbish bin, bringing me to a quick jolt as I amended myself, “—sir, I’ll take it, I’ll take it. I’ll save my tea for later. Thank you.”

He didn’t say anything, he just turned over to face the window, “Let’s get a run-through at your deck.” His remark sounded flat and stern as usual, but something caught my glance, and it was… his reflection on the glass window. He was smiling—more of a smirk actually—like he was suppressing a giggle to escape his mouth.

I furrowed my brow in disbelief for a split-moment, feeling an alarming fright creeping up my back, before straightening myself out quickly and opened up my laptop to show him the presentation deck I had made over night. I tried not to think of his smirk just now.

* * *

**[huang renjun, 12.55]** hey

**[huang renjun, 12.55]** good luck!! you’ll nail it 😉

**[me, 12.57]** Nervous as hell. Will keep u posted.

I pocketed my phone back to my purse. Stealing a glance at Yuta who was leaning to the metal sleat of the elevator – calm and disconcerted, fiddling around with the phone in his hand. The air felt suffocating, as the elevator brought us upwards to the 33rd floor. My heart was racing, to the point where I couldn’t hear anything much but the sound of it.

I braced myself to take a prolonged look at Yuta, trying to inhale the calmness he was oozing. He’s been in 33rd floor hundreds of times, this might just feel like another mundane recurrence for him – but I needed that, a seasoned footing in the corporate world.

I realized my stare had pestered him when he shot me a look, his head cocked to the side, “What?”

I shied away from staring back at his eyes. We’d just spent three hours non-stop rehearsing the deck and dissecting all the tiny details, _‘All the shits they may rain on you with’_ he said earlier this day, making sure I was aware of any leeway that might enable the DMC members to dispose of _our_ team’s idea. I was already exhausted at this point, but despite the growing anxiety, Yuta’s keen guidance throughout this morning had assuaged the fear.

“Thanks, sir,” I smiled at myself, staring at my shoes, “I hope I won’t get fired.”

“Tch,” he scoffed, I could still feel his stare boring on to me, “you won’t. Because then we have to pay you a severance.”

I finally looked at him. A smile was looming on his face.

_ Wednesday 17.00 _

I returned to my cubicle with a dissipating fear. You know that feeling? When you had just overcome an arduous event and all the budding fear, anxiety, nerve finally seeping out of your body. I threw myself to my chair and laid my head on the desk, fiddling the sticky note Renjun had left me with earlier this morning, thinking of what just happened.

The DMC meeting went on for four hours straight. I was in and out in the first hour, and although my vanity was hoping I was important enough to be a fixture in the meeting for longer time, fortunately what’s left of my sanity was glad that I wasn’t held captive with my stress in there for more than an hour.

Nonetheless, it was quite an experience, as only made more palpable by the unread e-mail in my inbox that said: _[33 rd Clear. New kid on the block.]_

I hesitated to open up the e-mail, which indicated there’s a possibility of my being mentioned –albeit only in a whim— and as it happened, felt relieved, upon discovering that I was only mentioned in a sentence ( _“New kid’s entry. Nervous wreck. Went out not long after. Situation’s clear”)_. I scrolled up to see more recent inbox and saw the anticipated chain-mail: _#JungUpdates Vol. 67_.

I felt relegated to a shameless pride upon realizing that this time, instead of fantasizing the look and feel of Jung Jaehyun during the DMC meeting through _#JungUpdates_ , I was privileged to see it first-hand. In fact, the whole time I was there, I was refraining my whole system not to look at him for more than 5 seconds, and it was evidently challenging. He was sitting on a fat, puffy leather chair at the corner of the room, and I’d realized there was no seat reserved for him on the oblong marble table, like the other DMC members. Compared to the other DMC members who expectedly came down hard with their arguments and analyses, he was characteristically quiet, often looked rather spaced out. In and out. In and out. Curiously, every time the members seemed to finally agree on something, they’d turn to Jaehyun and ask, _“What do you think, Jae?”_ If he’d said _yes, no problem, sounds okay to me_ – they’d immediately proceed to another matter. But the slightest hesitation from him, even if it was just a passing _uhhmm_ they’d impatiently dig in ( _“Do you think it needs polishing? The supply-chain system feels odd right? Or just a bit of fix in certain accounts?”)_ as if they were insecure with whatever they had in hand. Only Johnny would occasionally jump into their myriad of inquiries, _“Nah, I think what Jae meant was…”_

It was odd, I reckon, for me to be thinking about Jaehyun when I had just overcome one of the most prominent challenges in my career so far. I should be basking in my timely glory, instead I was fixated on Jaehyun – as if he was more important than _my own_.

I leaned back on my chair, blankly stared at the whirring aircon on the ceiling, _‘It was quite a success’,_ I thought to myself, slightly rejoicing the moment after I finished my presentation where Park Jihyo was saying, _“Miss, how long have you been here? 6 months? Why haven’t I heard about you before? This kid’s good!”_ as he looked at Yuta, and him smirking—scoffing—saying, _“Don’t blow her head up just yet.”_

The questions addressed during my presentation were exactly the ones Yuta had cautioned me about, I never realized how good Yuta was in anticipating someone’s action – he was a great judge of character. He knew people, he understood them. The thought that he might had already scrutinized my character gave me a tinge of uneasiness. _What if I was just another stereotype?_

I sighed and thought about the moment after the presentation ended: Yuta signaled me to come out of the room with him. He ushered me through the empty alleyway, heading to the emergency stairs, where we stood in silence for a moment as Yuta leaned himself to the railing, staring at me, “So, what do you think?”

Flustered, by the way he came in the form of interrogation, I answered, “I— I think it went well, also thanks to you, well—of course, sir.”

“Sure,” he took off his suit, and reached into his trousers’ pocket, taking out a pack of cigarettes and matches – flicked it lit, “thanks to me.” His usual sarcasm had grown on me.

I immediately scanned the ceiling to find any smoke detector, to find none.

“Looking for the smoke detector again?”

“Yeah…”

“You won’t find it,” he said, “chill.”

“How old is this building?”

“At least 30 years old,” Yuta always spoke in a dismissive tone, like he didn’t care, like every question bothered him—although it never kept him from answering questions though, “built in the 80s when lung cancer was basically a myth.”

 _‘So you know it’s a nasty habit,’_ I thought to myself, but what came up was only a timid: “Ah. Neat.”

Silence ensued. I would do every thing to slip myself out of that dreadfully awkward situation between us.

“So, is it how it’s gonna be?” he asked, finally breaking the awkward silence. The vagueness of his question suctioned me to a seeming time-wrap where I had to decipher what he meant in split-second, but thank God, he broke the suspense, “You—the tongue. Jaemin and Haechan—the brain?”

I never had a proper answer to that question. Was it supposed to be a condescending tone? Or was he laying it as a matter-of-fact? I couldn’t tell. I might have wobbled out of that question, until Yuta finished his cigarette and concluded the brief _getaway_ with a sermon: “As it happens, you’re my responsibility. When is your probation going to end? In three weeks? The company will evaluate whether paying you is an investment or a waste – and they’d point it out on me, as your direct manager. I don’t really care how you manage to do your jobs, just don’t fuck up.”

His words were still ringing in my ear even now. I couldn’t figure out the sentiment in his word; they were like riddles that needed decryption and I was just too sleep-deprived for it. I closed my eyes as the exhaustion started to grow on me.

* * *

— _ddak!_

A hard thud from an item hitting the surface I was sleeping on woke me up in a jolt. My heart was racing as my sight gained its pixels back—blurry and hazy. I could recognize a tall paper cup now standing on my desk, and a masculine arm extending from the back of my shoulder.

“You’re sleeping at work.” The statement had me realized that hours had passed and that explained why it had turned dark. Yuta was standing behind me, he’d discarded his suit and rolled his sleeve up to his arms. His hair was disheveled, and he looked tired – again.

A sheer panic streamed down on me, “Shit,” I muttered, glancing at the desk clock only to find out it was 21.00 already, “you’re still here, sir?”

“No, I’m a ghost,” he scoffed and walked away heading to his office, “That’s your hot tea. Come on.”

“Wh—where, sir?”

“Help me pick up my things,” he answered from his office, mildly shouting, with its door open ajar. I immediately paced up to his office room and got my hands on the mess he was pointing at, “give me that file over there.”

He pointed at a leather-bounded file in a cupboard at the corner of his office. It was quite high so I had to tip-toed to reach it with my fingers. I didn’t expect it to be heavy, I immediately lost my grip of file and dropped it to the floor, all its insides scattered all around the floor.

I tried to gather them up quickly, but I stopped upon seeing photographs scattered all over the floor alongside papers and invoices. It was an old photograph, almost yellowed out by age, of a younger Yuta in middle school uniform, with no dark circles underneath his eyes, with no somber or exhaustion on his expression – just pure youth. Beside him, there was another kid, a very familiar face, which I reckoned to be Jung Jaehyun and another boy I did not recognize. Embracing each other with innocent adolescence painted all over his face.

In fact, there was more than one photograph of the threesome. Older one, taken in what seemed to be an elementary class. I reckoned their friendship stretched way back, but who was the other boy?

“Done prying?”

I flinched in surprise and quickly stuffing the photographs back into the file, before handing his belonging back to him.

He walked to the door and lean to the glass door, “Come on.”

“Come on—where? Sir?”

He sighed, evidently annoyed, “Do you always act stupid like this or what?”

“Sorry—”

He clicked his tongue and strode out of his office, “I’ll drive you home. Don’t forget the tea.”

There was only the sound of the road at night and the navigating app chiming from his phone. There was a sense of oddity to see my address pinned on his phone, seeing him driving with his black hair tussled to the back, seen from such a close proximity. My heart was beating fast the whole ride, and there was only silence between us—I feared he would hear the beating of my heart.

I tried to lessen the rigidity in the way I sat by sipping the tea he gave me, it was no longer warm, but enough to moisten my throat, dried up by the awkwardness between us.

His car roared as he stepped on the gas, swaying to the high-speed lane. I could feel my back latched firmly to the seat.

“Sorry. Gotta speed up. You’re home’s quite far.”

“Err,” I gulped as he swayed smoothly through two trucks, “sorry for the trouble.”

He sighed, “Why don’t we agree on something? Stop saying sorry—come up with something creative.”

I couldn’t find any response to that but, “Okay.”

“Are you always like this?”

“Uhm, like what... sir?”

“Painfully awkward.”

“Just—” _Think this one through. Think this one through._ “—with some people.”

“And one of them being me? Right.” He seemed to be taking that conclusion personally, which scared me, “Why? Be honest.”

The room in which we were trapped in seemed to grow smaller as I thought of the appropriate answer, but I guess at certain point, there was no better answer than honesty, “Because… You’re my boss. And… I want to do right by you and…”

“And what?” His stare was darted on the road, he was now speeding down as he headed for the highway exit. _10 minutes before home_ , I thought, and the idea of getting out of this situation soon delighted me.

“You can be quite scary sometimes, sir.”

There was a sudden heavy silence afterwards. Yuta did not reply with any word neither expression. It was just an empty silence as we cruised through the empty neighborhood street. Not long after, the navigation app chimed _‘You are now at your destination!’_ and we stopped in front of my apartment.

“This is my place. Thank you very much for the ride sir.” I said politely as I freed myself off the seatbelt and prepared to pop the door open. Yuta was staring afar to the empty curb; his hair now fell all over his face as he cocked his head to the side. There was something strangely delicate with the way he looked now, with all his tiredness vividly drawn all over his face. I felt remorseful of what I’d said, to what extent could it have hurt him?

I suddenly realized what he was feeling, because maybe I had been there too. There’s a person who you thought you were, and yet it’s the person that the others never saw, because people had construed you differently in their heads. Then you realized, you didn’t know yourself at all, how people looked at you, how people thought of you—how oblivious we were to the interpretation of others. I wondered, what kind of person Yuta had projected himself to be? I’ve always thought he _wanted_ to be scary, but the way he acted tonight told me differently.

“Do you know what I think about you?” He broke the silence with a bang. It was a rhetoric question because he didn’t seem to need my answer, “I think you’re an investment. Not a waste.”

I sat there for a whole minute with no come back to the statement. The compliment was foreign and yet it felt sincere. I couldn’t help to wonder what kind of person Yuta was beneath all his cold and harsh demeanor? Would I find a warmth rarely discovered?

I couldn’t find any word to end this night without ruining it, so I just smiled, although he might not see it, and muttered, “Rest well, sir.” as I hopped off his car.


End file.
